


Connor in the Bathroom at a Party

by EmeraldAshes



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But enough risque language to justify a mature rating, Crying, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, not smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-06 15:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11603397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldAshes/pseuds/EmeraldAshes
Summary: It turns out that getting drunk when already kind of pissed off doesn’t make you any happier. Connor ends up hiding in a bathroom, insulting his reflection. Screw Zoe for hosting a kegger in their living room, and screw whoever’s pounding on the door. But Connor isn’t the only one looking for a place to hide.





	Connor in the Bathroom at a Party

**Author's Note:**

> This isn’t exactly a Be More Chill crossover, but there are enough references going on here to merit the label, I think. 
> 
> Also, for my regular readers, consider this a firm reminder that my fics aren't all puppies and crushes...although even in the darkness, I do believe in happy endings.

Connor didn’t go to parties. So, in the ongoing series of “Connor Murphy’s life sucks balls,” tonight the party had come to him. His parents were out of town, Zoe decided that now was the time to launch into her teenage rebellion phase, and she knew too many secrets for Connor to rat her out.

Connor would have just hunkered down in his room and blasted his music, but he refused to leave this situation without ample blackmail material on Zoe.

The brunette shoved through the crowd of the goddamned _kegger_ in his living room, snapping photos as he traipsed through—here’s a drunk fourteen-year-old softball player sprawled out on the couch, here’s some idiot standing on the table and chug-chug-chugging, and here’s our star of the hour, Miss Perfect Zoe herself.

He switched his phone to record and approached two idiots who had clearly dived right into the free alcohol and been swimming in it ever since. Connor dredged up a teaspoon of enthusiasm and asked, in a voice an inch above monotone, “What do you guys think of Zoe Murphy’s party?”

“It’s lit,” replied the asshole who had worn a high school varsity jacket to a party in the middle of August.

His significantly shorter friend, wearing cargo pants and a blue tank top with a cartoon eye on it, raised his hand for a high five. “What _what_.”

The varsity asshole high-fived him. “Dude, you are such a nerd.”

“You’re the nerd, nerd. Don’t be a dick. And speaking of”—the short guy slapped a hand against Connor’s back—“You look way too serious, man.”

Connor stared at him dully. “This is my happy face.”

“You know what’ll loosen you up?” he continued. “Beer pong!”

Connor went along with it because…fuck it. Maybe he wanted to loosen up. Maybe he wanted to be in the middle of the stumbling, bumbling, having fun crowd instead of glowering at them from the corner. Maybe…

Well, whatever. It didn’t work anyway. Four drinks later, he still felt pissed off and sullen. He still thought all the drunks looked like idiots. He was the same judgmental asshole, just with the added fun of not being able to walk a straight line. His vision was fucked up, too. Everything felt like it was moving too fast.

Connor needed to go to his room. Immediately. He shoved through the crowd, almost knocking over a glasses-wearing overachiever who he vaguely recognized from his Chemistry class the previous year.

Zoe, who had been talking with the other girl, glared at him. “Are you drunk right now?”

“None of your fucking business,” Connor spat at her.

“Of course you’re an angry drunk,” Zoe said as he stomped up the stairs with a hand clenched against the railing. Connor finally reached his bedroom and turned the doorknob. Locked.

He uselessly turned it again and growled, “You better not be fucking in my bed!”

“Sorry, bro,” came the voice of the varsity-jacket guy from earlier, who was having sex with—

“Oh my God, Madeline. That feels so good.”

—Madeline, apparently. Connor slammed his head against the door. “Great. Just great.”

Since his sister’s room was similarly occupied and Connor didn’t think he could make it down the stairs without falling, he locked himself in the bathroom. And wasn’t that just the most pathetic thing he’d ever seen?

Connor glared into the mirror as he mimicked Zoe’s voice. “Of _course_ you’re an angry drunk. Bitch.”

A cruel smile twisted his lips. “She’s fucking right, though, isn’t she? You’re an angry drunk. You’re an angry _everything_ , a fuck-up. You can’t do anything right. Can’t even have a few drinks and relax. Congratu-fucking-lations, even alcoholism can’t save you from your own broken mind.”

Connor leaned in close to his reflection, meeting his own eyes, and whispered, “You’re a freak.”

He leaned back, slightly disturbed at himself. He shouldn’t still be surprised by how messed-up he was, but then he managed to one-up himself by getting drunk and picking a fight with his own reflection.

It wasn’t like Connor was planning to become an alcoholic, but knowing that it wasn’t even a potential escape sucked. Even the pot barely mellowed him now. There was a part of him that thought maybe he should try therapy, get professional help. There was a much larger part that knew bullshit when he smelled it. No one could help him. He was just a born disappointment.

Larry kept his razors on the bottom shelf of the medicine cabinet. Connor could take one and run a bath. No one would hear him over the pounding music. No one would smell the blood.

Connor’s eyes were drawn to his reflection. He was used to the thoughts, the quiet hatred of them, but it was different watching his own face twist with disdain. It was different when his own voice said, “Go on. Don’t be a coward.”

And then the fucking knocking started.

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

He tried to ignore it.

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

He grabbed the razors.

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

He walked toward the bathtub.

Clang, clang, clang, clang.

He paused.

Bang, bang, bang, bang.

Connor walked away from the tub and set the razors on the counter, his self-hatred redirected in one great surge toward the _motherfucking cunt who wouldn’t stop slamming on the door._

The knocking stopped. There was silence. Connor was alone.

Connor was alone with his thoughts.

The anger began to leak out of him, leaving him utterly empty. Then the doorknob rattled, and Connor saw red. He tore open the door, shouting, “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

But it wasn’t some asshole in cargo pants or some pissed-off bitch with smeared mascara. All Connor saw was a teenager in khakis and a polo, with his hand still half-raised toward the door. He was crying.

Worse, he wasn’t crying because Connor had just screamed at him. He had been crying for a while. His face was splotchy and his eyes pink. There was a snot bubble forming in his nose.

The guy glanced nervously behind him, and he adjusted his shirt with trembling hands. It suddenly hit Connor that the only way to “get the fuck out of his house” was to walk through the crowd, past everyone, and this guy just wanted a place to hide until his tears stopped.

Without thinking, Connor grabbed the other boy’s arm and dragged him into the bathroom.

By the time Connor had locked the door and turned to see the sniffling boy standing lost in the middle of his bathroom, it occurred to him that this was a really fucking stupid idea. But when had that ever stopped him?

Connor handed the other boy a tissue, then—after a moment’s thought—handed him the full box. The teen quickly started scrubbing at his face. He was still sobbing, one arm wrapped around his stomach at some pathetic attempt at comfort.

Connor sighed and reluctantly uncrossed his arms. “You need a hug.”

The other boy actually stopped crying for a moment out of sheer confusion.

Connor continued, “Look, I’m not happy about this, but you seriously need a fucking hug.

Connor took a step forward, tentatively wrapping his arms around the other boy’s upper back. He froze for a moment and then returned the hug with crushing desperation and buried his head in Connor’s shoulder. As tears drenched the sleeve of his shirt, Connor tried to remember the last time he had hugged someone. Nothing came to mind.

“You’re alright,” he mumbled once, but it felt forced and insincere. He fell into silence, his mind wandering to the body under his hands. The guy was his age, maybe a little younger. He was a couple inches shorter than Connor, not enough to make the hug uncomfortable but enough that Connor could tuck his head over the other boy’s bowed one, if he wanted. He pressed against Connor’s chest like he hoped to burrow inside. He was warm.

Connor cut the hug short, fighting a blush. He was drunk, but he wasn’t some fucking pervert. He wasn’t going to take advantage of a stranger who was literally crying on his shoulder. Besides, the other guy’s sobs had evolved into sniffles. He would be fine.

Brown eyes glanced up at him, then fell away. “S-sorry. And thank you for. Um, for—”

Connor cut him off. “It’s not a big deal.”

The eyes were back, full of awe and hope and expectations that Connor would never, ever meet. “Th-thank you anyway…Evan Hansen. That’s my name. I’m, um, Evan. Everyone calls me Evan, so you can, too, if you want.”

Connor held out a hand. “Connor Murphy.”

Evan rubbed his hands against his pants, then grabbed it. “Evan Hansen. But I just said that, and…W-wait. Murphy?”

Connor prepared himself for the inevitable rejection. “Yeah. Murphy.”

Evan’s eyes stared firmly at the tile floor. “You’re…is your s-sister Zoe Murphy, maybe?”

Connor felt tense, coiled. He grabbed the package of razors and shoved them in the medicine cabinet—partially to do something with his hands, partially so he wouldn’t be tempted when everything went to shit. “You know her?”

Evan’s arm wrapped around himself again in that same sad half-hug. “N-no. Not really.”

The silence felt more awkward this time. Connor paced back and forth past Evan. He eventually perched on the lip of the tub, his foot tapping the small blue carpet pressed against its side. Evan stood still, his eyes sometimes darting toward Connor. Every few seconds, Evan gasped out a sob.

Connor’s shoulder still felt damp with Evan’s tears. “Why were you crying?”

“W-what?”

Connor didn’t take it back, and he didn’t repeat himself. He just added, “You don’t have to tell me. Just curious.”

Evan sunk down to sit on the toilet seat. “I…I shouldn’t have come. I don’t even l-like parties.”

Connor nodded. “Parties blow.”

“R-right,” Evan said. “But when Jared—Jared Kleinman, maybe you know him?”

Connor thought about it for a moment, trudging through his alcohol-sodden brain. “I think I punched him once.”

“He, um, he invited me to a party, and I knew he didn’t want me to come. But I thought, and I know it was stupid, but I thought that…There was this girl I liked who was going, and maybe I would say hi to her and she’d say hi back…”

Connor spoke flatly, “And then you’d have sex in my bedroom.”

“Wh-what? No. God. _No._ Just talk a little, maybe, which is so st-stupid because I don’t talk to girls, or…or anyone, really. So I came, even though I knew I would hate it, and I knew Jared would hate me being there. And I was being annoying, like usual. I know that I—and I try not to—but I know that I bother people.”

Connor leaned his head against the tiled wall, enjoying the cold solidness of it. When he spoke, his voice came out louder than he intended. “You don’t bother me.”

Evan stared at him, startled, his face turning red.

Connor attempted volume control as he continued. “I find pretty much everyone annoying. But you’re fine.”

A little twitch of a smile flickered onto Evan’s face. Either he had a brief surge of happiness or a slight stroke. Knowing Connor’s luck, probably the second one. “Th-thanks, I think?”

“You’re welcome,” Connor said. He watched Evan, noticing the freckles that had been buried against his shirt earlier and the messed-up hair that probably wasn’t intentional but was still kind of cute.

Evan’s face grew a more intense shade of red, and his voice sped up until Connor had trouble processing it. “A-anyway, I was hanging around Jared because I don’t, I don’t have other friends. Not that he’s my friend, really. But I just, I was kind of part of this group of people he was hanging out with, listening mostly, and then I tried to say something, and I stuttered. That’s fine, I mean, it’s embarrassing, but fine. Then Jared mimicked me, and they laughed. And it was just, it was just—”

Connor leaned forward to set a hand on Evan’s shoulder. He met Evan’s eyes, and he spoke slowly so that he wouldn’t slur the words. “They sound like a bunch of cocksuckers.”

Evan laughed, then clasped a hand over his mouth as if it had surprised him. Another, slightly watery giggle escaped between his fingers.

Then, something occurred to Connor, and all the parts of his brain that would usually tell him to shut up were functioning poorly. He said, “No, wait. That’s rude to cocksuckers. I suck cocks. Or I would, I guess? I’m gay.”

“Th-that’s cool. Not that you, um, need my approval or anything. But I mean, I’m bi. So no judgment, I guess. Not that I would be judging if I weren’t bi…”

Connor burst out laughing, leaning heavily on the hand pressed against Evan’s shoulder as he half-collapsed.

Evan laughed softly, too, but they soon turned to anxious giggles. “I’m not really out yet, s-so…Please don’t tell anyone?”

Connor hauled himself back to a sitting position, a grin still lingering on his lips. “I’m not a total dick.”

“I don’t think you’re a dick, like, at all”—Evan tugged at the hem of his shirt—“I m-mean, you’ve been nice, really nice, especially since I bothered you when you were in the, the b-bathroom? I mean, you shouted, sure, but…”

Connor dropped his hand from Evan’s shoulder. “Yeah. Sort of thought you were someone else.”

Evan was still smiling, and it was aimed straight at Connor. “Th-then you’re definitely not a dick.”

Connor snorted. “You don’t know me, Hansen.”

“I…I kind of want to? Know you, I mean”—Evan licked his lips. It was distracting and unfair—“It’s fine if you don’t want that, of course. I mean, I get it.”

Connor grabbed his phone from his pocket and shoved it into Evan’s hands.

Evan stared down at it.

“You can add yourself to my contacts, if you want.”

“Um…”

Evan hadn’t actually meant it. Of course he hadn’t meant it. Connor was the asshole who had dragged him inside and then locked the door. He was the idiot who was taking advantage of some sad kid for…what? Friendship? Some romantic bullshit?

It then occurred to Connor that the phone was still locked and that he was a drunken idiot by all definitions. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. “The code’s 2311.”

Evan entered his number, and Connor immediately texted him, humming in satisfaction at the slight buzzing from Evan’s pocket.

“G-good. Thanks. I should probably…” Evan frowned at the door. The party music still softly emanated through the wood, and someone downstairs was screaming along to a Whitney Houston song. Connor didn’t want to go back to that mess either.

“Your ride’s Kleinman, right?” Connor asked.

“Y-yeah, he’s probably drunk.”

Connor stood up from the bathtub’s edge, wobbling slightly and catching himself on Evan’s shoulder. “I’d offer you a ride, but I’m drunk, too.”

“I guess I should call my mom. I mean, she’ll be disappointed if she realizes I’m, I’m—”

“Sober in the middle of the biggest kegger of the summer?” Connor said.

Evan laughed. “Yes? I mean, maybe, um, m-maybe not the sober part? But yeah.”

Connor watched the other boy take out his flip-phone (People still had those?) and slowly begin typing.

“Want to get a burger?”

Evan looked up. “S-sorry?”

Connor forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look like a starved wolf, the way all his school photos did. “There’s a diner like three blocks away. Your mom could pick you up from there. It would be less weird.”

“That sounds amaz...”—Evan coughed—“Cool. I, uh, I like burgers.”

“Cool.” Connor grabbed Evan’s hand, leading him out of the bathroom, through the crowd, and into the night. He was still Connor Murphy. He was definitely going to fuck this up.

But maybe not tonight.


End file.
